


this house of doubt is all we know

by sleeplessmiles



Series: borders and horizon lines [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, MaySimmons Weekend, post-2x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3398801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terrified of accidentally hurting her SHIELD family, Skye runs away in the middle of the night to protect them. May is overwhelmed by guilt, fearing that she drove Skye to this, and Jemma's determined to convince her otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this house of doubt is all we know

**Author's Note:**

> Written for May & Simmons Weekend on tumblr, for the prompt 'MaySimmons + May being vulnerable.'

 

May doesn’t know why she ended up in the cockpit of the Bus. Not really.

If anyone asks – which they won’t, because they won’t begrudge her this rare moment of privacy – she’ll say it’s so that she’s ready. She can have the wheels up within seconds if any of the searches scouring the planet for Skye yield actual results. All the others need to do is raise the alarm and they’re good to go, because she’s already in position.

But if she were to hazard a guess at the actual reason her tired feet brought her here, she’d go with something much less practical. Much more sentimental.

It’s because they used to be together, up here – safely tucked away in their sanctuary above the clouds.

Now, the team is scattered. Ward abandoned his post in the most treacherous of ways. Trip was cruelly snatched from them. Fitz left a part of himself at the bottom of the ocean, and Jemma has shadows behind her eyes and anger in her hardened heart.

And now –

Skye’s _gone_. 

So if May were to guess, she’d say she wound up here because she’s subconsciously chasing a different place, a different time. Just for a moment, she wants to once more feel as though they’re winning more than they’re losing.

Just for a moment, she wants to escape the guilt. To outrun the overwhelming sense of _my fault_.

But she knows that there is no refuge from this.

 

-

-

 

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time for Jemma to find her.

May knows it’s the young scientist from the way she knocks on the cockpit door, oddly enough; the taps are soft and unsure, but the rhythm is the same one May had always used when she’d checked up on Jemma after the med pod. Jemma slowly opens the door, knowing better than to expect verbal permission by now, but hesitates just inside the doorway for a moment. Gauging the mood, May thinks.

Then, she surprises May by releasing a self-deprecating, breathy sort of laugh.

‘I was going to say I made you some tea, but I seem to have misplaced it while I was looking for you,’ she explains, lifting her hands as though to prove that they’re empty. Her voice is light and cheerful, but also incredibly tentative.

(She’s improved substantially at that, May notes with a faint twinge of pride. It’s not that she didn’t have tact before, because she did – she’d always been sharp enough to understand what a situation called for. It’s more that she’s always attacked everything in her life with the same high level of enthusiasm and determination, and her exuberance often came across as over-eager gushing rather than the genuine optimism that it is.

Whether it’s a skill she's forced herself to acquire, or whether their new circumstances pushed her into it, Jemma has learned to temper the enthusiasm.

But her level of determination still hasn’t budged a damn inch.)

May doesn’t say anything in response, and Jemma doesn’t comment further, but the girl understands the silence for what it is – tacit permission to stay. Quietly shutting the door behind her, she almost tiptoes over to the passenger seat and sits down, curling her knees up to her chest.

When Jemma’s gaze is drawn to some sort of commotion in the hangar beyond the window, May takes the opportunity to observe her younger counterpart, noting the red puffiness around her eyes and her messy, unwashed hair. Jemma had been in the middle of her morning workout when May had gone to see where Skye was, finding a neatly-made bed and a note instead of the girl herself. Since then, they’d been run off their feet all day in their desperate attempts to locate her.

(They just wanted to protect her, this girl who had fled to protect  _them_.) _  
_

With every known database currently searching for a trace of her, they’d finally reached a point where there was nothing left to do but wait.

So this is their first free moment all day. Their first free moment, and yet Jemma’s tucked neatly into the passenger seat beside her, still in her workout clothes from this morning. She could have gone to shower and change, to freshen up, but instead she came here. She came to make sure May was alright. 

May exhales shakily.

They don’t speak for the longest time, the stress of the day hanging in the air between them. Eventually, though, Jemma turns her head to lean against the back of the chair, regarding May with eyes that hold entirely too much knowledge.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she says, voice barely louder a whisper. Despite the volume, though, her words are firm and sure. Jemma clearly believes this to be indisputable fact, and her tone reflects as much.

But May can’t give her the agreement she’s looking for – not when her belief is so sorely misplaced. May has thought it through at length by this point. No matter how you look at this one, no matter how you might try to spin it, she’s responsible.

All roads lead back to May.

She won’t be the one to take the comfort of facts away from Jemma Simmons, though. Not on this day, when it seems the losses just keep on coming. So she turns to stare out the window at the hangar, obstinate in her silence.

‘May,’ Jemma prompts gently, clearly fishing for a response, and May feels the almost-physical ache in her chest increase. She slowly meets Jemma’s eyes, holding her gaze for the longest of moments and knowing that the fear and exhaustion on Jemma’s face is reflected on her own.

Jemma sighs, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She pulls her knees in a little closer.

‘You know, I blamed myself too, at first,’ she offers to the small space, before huffing a humourless laugh. ‘I think everyone did, actually.’

May recalls the haunted way Fitz had looked at everyone all day, and doesn’t find the statement hard to believe.

Jemma’s silent then, cleverly leaving the conversation open in order to pull May into it. Barely suppressing an eyeroll, May relents (but not before mentally cursing the girl’s steep learning curve). 

‘And you’re okay with it now.’

She doesn’t voice it as a question, but Jemma seems to sense that this is as close as May will get to asking for advice anyway. A corner of the young woman’s mouth twitches briefly, as though trying to remember how to smile, before dropping tiredly again.

‘Of course I’m not,’ she says on an exhale. She shakes her head, meeting May’s gaze briefly before flicking her eyes away again. ‘I’m _terrified_ for her, May. Every time I so much as _think_ about it, I just want to…’ 

Jemma trails off, blinking a little faster and looking at the ceiling, so May averts her eyes until she composes herself enough to continue.

‘But it doesn’t really matter if we’re responsible anymore, because it happened anyway. What matters is what we do next. What we can still do to support her.’

Her voice cracks a little, but her words are infused with a steely resolve that May wishes she could achieve herself right now.

‘And honestly? I think Skye would resent the implication that this was anything less than her own choice.’

That’s what it should come down to, shouldn’t it? It’s Skye’s choice, and May goes to great pains to allow these kids the dignity of their own choices. But whether intentional or not, May had impacted upon that choice. If May had acted differently, Skye might have chosen differently.

This is still on May. 

She can’t escape that fact.

Silence reigns in the cockpit once more, and if it weren’t for the bland walls of the hangar as far as the eye can see, May could almost pretend that this is a normal morning on the Bus – one of the kids sitting quietly in the passenger seat, both pilot and student lost in their own thoughts.

‘It’s what I would have done, if I were in her shoes,’ Jemma says finally, her tired voice breaking into May’s reverie. She’s staring out at the walls herself, now. ‘And forgive me for being presumptuous, but it’s what _you_ would have done, too.’

It is. She _has_ done it.

‘That’s the problem,’ May murmurs, instantly hating herself for giving voice to it. Hating herself for burdening this girl with anything more than absolutely necessary right now.

Because it’s May who taught them this. Fitz giving the air to Jemma, Jemma going to Hydra to help Fitz, Skye leaving to protect them – they all learned from May’s example. They already had such big, bleeding hearts, and the instinct was already alive and well in them, but then May left Providence. She left, regardless of the risk to herself, because her absence would save those most important to her.

It was already innate within them, but May had cultivated it into something so much more dangerous: a viable solution. 

So all of this is on her, because how could it be anything but?

Jemma hums, as though she disagrees but doesn’t quite know how to verbalise it, before she speaks again.

‘You know, I’m incredibly smart.’

May starts at the abrupt change of topic.

‘Remarkably so, in fact,’ she continues, voice frank and pragmatic. ‘I rose through the ranks at Sci-Ops quicker than almost anyone in SHIELD’s history.’ 

She’s smiling a little to herself now, face angelic and borderline smug despite her obvious exhaustion, and May hasn’t a clue where she’s going with this. 

‘Always did as I was told, followed all of their rules… some of my designs were exceptionally – ’

‘ – Jemma,’ May interrupts, not in the mood.

But when Jemma unfolds her legs and rotates to face May, unexpectedly swift in her movements, her eyes are positively fierce. Certain.

‘If you hadn’t chosen me, someone else would have.’

Stunned at her vehemence, May allows that to wash over her – the white noise of their little space seeming to scream it at her over and over. 

Because it’s true.

‘And if you _hadn’t_ picked us, we’d probably be dead,’ Jemma continues, just as firmly. ‘Several times over. So focus on that instead.’

But how can that be enough, she wants to yell. How can that possibly justify the harm that she’s done since? The terrible circumstances that she's quite literally flown them into, that she couldn't save them from?

She tries to swallow down her rage as much as possible before she can trust herself with a response – she may be baring some of her biggest vulnerabilities to Jemma here, but she couldn’t live with herself if she unleashed her anger as well.

‘That’s an uplifting thought,’ is what she ultimately comments, voice successfully deadpan. Jemma just stares back, eyes wide and helpless, and May immediately feels bad for trying to make light of it.

They lapse back into silence, albeit more uncomfortable this time.

‘Did you know about Bobbi?’ Jemma tries again after a while, apropos of nothing. May looks across at that, a silent question on her face. She hastens to elaborate. ‘When you agreed to let me go to Hydra, I mean. Did you know she was there?’

May clenches her jaw, relaxes it. She sighs. ‘Not at that point, no.’

Jemma only tilts her head in response, not a hint of accusation in her gaze. She’s all gentle curiosity, and the innocence of it makes May want to level a couple hundred Hydra facilities to the ground with her bare hands.

‘Why’d you let me go, then?’ she asks.

May doesn’t even think before answering. ‘It was your choice.’

Then she considers her words more carefully, chest tight. Could it really be as simple as this girl believes it to be?

‘Please don’t blame yourself,’ Jemma utters determinedly, voice pleading. ‘I know it feels impossible, May. Believe me, I _know_. But you don’t deserve this.’

 _I do deserve this_ , is what May thinks – what she _knows_ – but she looks into Jemma’s imploring eyes and realises that the young scientist is right. It absolutely doesn’t matter if May deserves the blame or not. Not anymore.

What matters now is how they move forward.

‘Do you think she’ll come back?’ May asks quietly, finally voicing the question that has been tormenting her all day, and she absolutely _despises_ the way her voice sounds. Feeble and unsure. Weak.

But Jemma simply lifts her chin and meets May’s gaze head on, the absolute paragon of strength.

‘I do,’ she says, without a single hint of uncertainty. ‘When she’s ready, she’ll come back to us.’

And for all that she desperately wants to protect this girl from the terrible realities of the world, there’s ultimately very little Melinda May values more than Jemma Simmons’ assessment of a situation.

Speechless and a little stunned, May finds that all she can do is nod - just the once - and hope that her gratitude shines through. Curling up in her chair once more, Jemma manages to muster a pleased smile.

 

-

-

 

They sit together in companionable silence for a long, _long_ time before Bobbi comes to get them, bringing news of a hit they’d gotten off one of Skye’s known Rising Tide aliases. It’s not much, the very definition of a longshot, but it’s better than nothing. They’re almost off the plane when Jemma reaches out to gently touch May’s arm, bringing them both to a halt. 

‘May?’ she asks, voice tentative. It’s the first sign of nervousness she’s shown this whole time, and May’s immediately on alert.

But she needn’t have worried.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m glad you chose us,’ Jemma says resolutely, eyes fixed on May’s face. ‘I’m thankful every single day.’ 

Something clenches in May’s chest, and when she answers, it’s without conscious thought. It’s born of bone-deep certainty.

‘So am I,’ she promises simply.

They walk back into the base, and May’s still a long way from absolution but she knows that she’s ready, now.

Ready for whatever it is she’s called upon to do.

Ready to provide whatever Skye needs from her.

Ready to choose them, again and again and again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Home II' by Dotan.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> (also, my tumblr is 'imperfectlychaotic' and I'm taking maysimmons prompts for the rest of the weekend!! so feel free to drop by if you've got a request.)


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